


Something Just Like This

by njckle



Series: Fantastic AUs [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AUs, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Wings, F/M, MermaidAU, curseAU, newtina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:25:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njckle/pseuds/njckle
Summary: A collection of newtina AUs.





	1. birds with broken wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wingsAU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is based off this [post](http://njcklenjart.tumblr.com/post/162605481289/katiehavok-wanderingnork-consider-wingfic).

"May I?"  
  
Tina swallows, her insides twisting in an anxious-yet-pleasant way, but nods her consent. From her peripheral, Newt fidgets by the stairs that lead up out of his case, his wings twitching (he's just as unsure as she is). She chooses to ignore his apprehension, focusing on the vials lined up on his desk, each filled with a spectrum of colors and odd charms. In the silence between, she hears the call of his creatures from out beyond the walls of his shed.   
  
Slowly, Newt steps closer into the space between her wings and she lets him, staring definitely at the maps laid out before her, noting the many points across the continents marked in cursive writing. He reaches out and she shivers when his fingers finally brushed against her primary feathers, a faint touch that’s no more than a breeze.

Tina lets out a shaky breath, gripping the stool under her, but otherwise doesn’t respond.  
  
Her lack of rejection spurs Newt further, pressing more firmly on her wings, sliding down to the tips. Gently, softly he explores more, slipping his fingers in between her feathers, his knuckles grazing her shirt when he pets those closest to the center of her back.   
  
Her eyelids drop. She lets herself get lost in the attention, especially so when Newt switches wings, giving the other the same care as he did the first. Unconsciously, Tina spreads them wider, taking up more space she'd usually allow; for once she's in the spotlight, not in a dark basement within MACUSA where no one can catch a glimpse, berated and smothered. It's nice.

"Tina…?"

At his voice, she snaps to attention immediately. It only takes a second for her to realize that Newt had finished his ministrations some time ago, awkwardly standing behind her and waiting for some kind of signal.

Heat builds in her cheeks, embarrassed. Never before has this happened. She wasn't one of those giggling flapper girls that fluttered their tips at any good-looking man with a mediocre wingspan, nor did she usually let a stranger preen her into such compliance.  
  
But Newt isn't a stranger- at least, not entirely.   
  
A small movement catches her eye and she foregoes any other thought in light of the sight of her wings.   
  
She touches the tip of a feather. Unlike before, it glows under the warm light, even more luminous compared to her pale skin. Her hand feels more, wiping off the dust of neglect that’s covered it for so long to reveal a steel blue that reminds her of her mother's.

Coughing, she hastily stands, folding her wings and leaving them pressed against her back like a steel shield. It takes only a moment to hastily wipe her face and another to get her breathing back to normal. Newt hasn't moved when she turns to face him, still staring at her wings.  
  
"Thank you," she says, unable to think of anything else.   
  
"It was nothing," he tells her, making eye contact for a split second before glancing down at their shoes.

He does that often, Tina realizes, tossing away compliments. These little acts of kindness are easily given, as if the sky would fall around them if not done so, and it's something else. Living in New York, with its bustling streets and detached people (with their small wings, shining and loved compared to her own), this kind of unbiased care is strange and new.

She finally looks at his wings, really looks. They’re brown, almost rustic, dappled in white and black, as common as the Muggle's she's seen on the street. Self-preened, at least the places he can reach, his feathers as lustrous as they can be surviving off self-love. She touches one without thinking. Newt's small intake is ignored in favor of the softness of his feathers, shivering under her fingertips.

She focuses on a place he can most certainly reach on his own, but she’s too much of a coward to step around him and preen at the ruffled mess that covers the back. That’s the difference between them, she supposes, their courage; she can fight criminals and break the Statute of Secrecy without hesitation, but intimate acts with anyone besides her sister leave her a frightened quail. It’s only Newt’s previous single-minded attention for her that pushes her to continue, so she settles on combing her fingers through the feathers she can reach, brushing down displaced quills and flattening those sticking out of place, giving something in return for the selfless care she’d been given.

When she looks back at his face, he’s already staring at her, and she scrounges up some courage to meet his gaze. Her hand drops to hang by her side and, even with no legitimate reason to keep them standing so close, she stays where she is. This close, she can see his freckles in detail, as well as the scruff lining his jaw and the emeralds lurking in the sea of his eyes. He's quite handsome, in a roguishly awkward kind of way.

“Thank you.” He tucks a strand of her hair back, his expression focused, and a new feeling flutters in her chest, pushing back the fear and replacing it with something more.

And when he gives her a small smile, she can’t help but give a hopeful one in return.


	2. raise the curtains and set the stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> non-magical circusAU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 3x longer than the first and I can't believe how overboard I went with this AU. Why do I write so much? Why do my drabbles turn into lengthy one-shots?

The crowd roars, hands raised and clapping, sound soaring to the tent’s peak in an electric wave.

From the top level, Newt observes all sorts of people, large and small, men and women, young and old, each adding a distinct voice to the commotion of the show below. The businessmen could sit beside a common working man, united in the throes of wondrous laughter. It was a beautiful thing, shining under the guise of the night; though come morning, the world would reset and strangers would become strangers once again, but, for now, responsibilities and social conduct could be thrown aside in the face of entertainment.

They’re a stark contrast to the performers down below, shining figures that dazzle in the stagelight, fluidly moving in time with the beats of the music the band plays, the bright dash of red marking Picquery slipping in between to draw the crowd in even more.

Pickett chitters anxiously from his shoulders. Newt turns away from the action, walking toward the empty bleachers on the highest level.

“It’s alright, Pick,” he murmurs, petting the lemur in soothing strokes. “We’ll be leaving in a jiffy.”

His words calm the primate, who curls his tail around Newt’s throat, gripping his shirt’s collar between his little hands.

Newt had tossed his overly flashy coat aside the moment his act had finished, never one to draw attention to himself. That was reserved for his animals, not him. He stands close to the tent flap where a mild breeze is easily accessible, the heat of the crowd raising the temperature within the tent tenfold and not the best for his friend. Pickett purrs his thanks, especially when Newt hands him an apple slice from his pocket.

They grab the attention of a little girl two rows below, her face lighting up so quickly once she sees Pickett perched on Newt’s shoulders. His act has always been a favorite of children, the exotic animals piquing their curiosity, especially when he tells them of the far-off places they come from. It must be so for the girl, recognizing him from the earlier part of the show.

Newt presses a finger to his lips before she can draw attention to him. She gives a kilowatt smile when Pickett turns her way, charmingly showing off his food as he chews with an open mouth, and nods, scampering away with a skip to her step.

Indiscreetly, he checks his watch, pursing his lips at the time. It’s been long past usual showtime, even longer since Pickett had rested. He didn’t often stay after his act, only to watch over one of the assistants if they were performing a new stunt, preferring to retire early.

The only reason he hadn't left yet was that there were now a number of new acts, none of which he’d seen yet. New dancers to accompany Picquery as she started the show (who weren’t half bad, if the show below is any indication), a band of trapeze artists, as well as more “freaks” for the sideshow. Not only that, but a fortune teller had begun traveling with them, a pretty young blonde with a dazzling smile that always knew what everyone was thinking. Coupled with the original acts and the countless vendors that traveled with their troupe, they would soon be the biggest in North America and Europe, if they weren’t so already.

“You wouldn’t notice if Picquery replaced the entire troupe, brother,” Theseus had said jokingly, and, as much as Newt wouldn’t like to admit it, he’s right.

Though true as that might be, it always paid to know who you were traveling with and so he forced himself to bear through the countless acts. Through the clowns making a fool of the audience and themselves, the sword swallowers and fire-eaters, Mr. Grave’s magician's act (the runaway boy hanging off the man’s every word and doing better as his assistant than anyone expected), the jugglers and tightrope acrobats, as well as the parading elephants. The contortionist doesn’t effect him like the patrons, the act always the same, and he claps with the rest of the crowd when his brother makes consecutive shot after shot, not even the blindfold covering his eyes enough to impede his stellar aim.

Near the end, the acrobats come out, offering a dazzling performance. There are a total of five cascading down from the corners of the tent, just beyond the reach of the captivated crowd. They hang, suspended on hoops, holding their bodies in fantastical positions, displaying more control and strength than their very own Strongman. From there, they rise to elevated platforms, foregoing static tricks to those more dangerous. Some of the crowd scream when the first jumps down from a great height, barely caught by another.

Newt grins, watching the trapeze artists swing across, their costumes shimmering under the stagelight, enthralled as much as the crowd. Some continue to do static positions while others are swooping over the crowd with wide smiles as they do incredible flips and gravity-defying stunts. They swoop over the bleachers and, when they’re turned away from the crowd in that split second, Newt can see the facade slip momentarily as the performers makes faces at one another.

Then he sees her.

Or, rather, the crowd goes suddenly silent, the music dipping into something low and daring, and he sees the stage lights dim until only one remains. Newt slips through the maze of the bleacher’s metal frame as the performers disappear as quickly as they appeared, catching glimpses of pale blue through the seats as he hurries back into the open.

It’s a single performer, a woman with a dark bob hanging from fine silk in the center of the stage. Above her, a hoop that’s been beautifully crafted to resemble a grinning moon.

For reasons he can’t explain, Newt feels drawn. Without realizing it, he’s moved out from the shadows to stand at the edge of the upper seats.

The woman is just as extravagant as the other performers, displaying her flexibility and strength, holding the splits even as the ribbon tied around her ankles turns her in a slow orbit. She twists and spins, hanging by an ankle for a moment, before wrapping herself with the silk, both body and legs.

Suddenly, she falls from the ceiling in a waterfall of silk, her lifeline slipping through her fingers, and Newt feels his breath leave his lungs. The stage light follows her descent like a loyal companion until halfway down, she stops, the fabric swirling around her legs, holding her steady as she releases her hands and waves an elegant arm to the crowd. They cheer, appreciative whistles rising over the the barrier and brushing along the curve of her spine.

She makes the climb back up look easy, hooking her legs and pulling herself up like she’d been born doing it. The crowd gasps when the silk falls away, but the woman’s already grabbed hold of the ring, hoisting herself to sit there like she’s not risking her life from a potential fall. She flips back, dangling with one hand, only to swing and pull herself back up, and then again, changing her routine way to keep the crowd interested.

From Newt’s peripheral, a man shouts and points to the right, and Newt tears his gaze away from the woman to see that some of the other performers are back. When he looks back at the main stage, she’s gone, aerial ring and all.

The act resumes to its prior tricks, the acrobats swings around grabbing the crowd’s attention once more. Newt searches the faces of each one as they rush by, but none of them are the woman in blue. She’s vanished like one of Graves’ doves, there one second and gone the next, right before his very eyes.

A cry from the crowd and then, suddenly, she's _there_. Body bowed and legs hooked securely around a trapeze bar, she's rushing towards him, until she’s looking straight at him, an arm’s length away.

Their eyes meet. The stagelight highlights half of her face, adding color to her pale skin, shadows trailing down the expanse of her neck to the shimmery material of her costume.

She extends an arm to him as if she’d known he’d be standing here, beckoning.

A small part of him wants to reach out, but that would be silly, strange even. Before he can even act out the desire, she's falling back, grabbing hold of another acrobat and speeding to the other end of the tent. She doesn't come near Newt again.

The rest of the act follows in a daze, the crowd growing louder and louder, until the finale sets them off into a frenzy of applause. Pickett screeches in his ear, but Newt’s deaf to it. He stares at the woman in blue, who stands in the shadows atop the main platform while the other women come forward with big, sultry smiles.

He's rushing back down to ground level before the performers even begin their bows.

* * *

 

After the show, he doesn't go back to his tent and retire for the night. What he does is search the crowded backstage, ignoring Theseus’s surprise when he stares at the trapeze artists more intensely than he ever has for anything that isn’t an animal. He doesn't see a hint of pale blue.

His brother doesn’t say anything, but asks with the rise of his eyebrows. Newt can’t answer him because he himself isn't sure why he's looking in the first place.

* * *

 

It's days later that he finally meets her in person. He's emptying his Rhino’s watering trough in the patch of dirt behind his tent when he hears a polite cough.

Newt turns and he nearly trips over the the trough in his surprise. Hanging on the ropes pegged into the ground, a few lines down from where his clothes hang to dry, is the woman.

She stares at him and he at her, silently.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi.” For some reason, her voice isn’t what he expects, blunt and melodic at once. She doesn’t say anymore, dropping the upper half of her body from the taut ropes to hang from her legs.

Newt glances around them, spotting no one else. Not many of other circus goers ever wandered near his tent in fear of his animals, and those who did kept a respectable distance away while they stared in awe. Behind him his elephants grunt and his lions roar, but he can still make out the indistinguishable chatter of the rest of the camp, boats of laughter rising up in small intervals.

“What are you doing back here?” There are other places to practice, similar to his own, and yet, strangely enough, she's here.

The woman waves a hand at her position, as if it would speak for itself, before twisting her torso to grip lower along the rope in a spine-breaking stretch. From there, she releases a leg and maneuvers herself onto the next rope, and Newt merely watches stretch herself comfortably.

The toned shape of her legs draws his gaze, his focus on the way they wrap around the rope, where the swell of her flesh will most likely have a temporary impression of the rope after. And much of her skin is visible with her simple leotard, resembling more of an undergarment than clothing to walk around public in.

“Are you going to stand there all day watching me?”

“Ah, sorry.” He coughs, feeling heat creep up his neck to his ears at being caught, the mid-afternoon sun burning at his back. He hastily makes his escape.

Her voice stops him before he can take a single step toward his tent. “Hey, fella, would you do me a favor?”

Newt turns back to her, confused. That is, until she nods to the ground underneath her, a puddle of mud that looks like a slop of brown paste. He spots her shoes at the edge, too far to reach.

“Oh, ah, yes—allow me.”  The mud sticks to his boots when he steps into the puddle, wet straw and grass sticking to his soles, and reaches out to her. He doesn’t give himself time to think, wrapping an arm around her waist and settling her on his hip, taking on her slight weight easily when she releases the ropes. He doesn’t grip her bare legs, and instead she curls them against her chest as he side carries her to a dry patch of grass.

She sets her feet on the ground one after the other, but doesn’t take back her hands, keeping them where they are, her grip like a steel clamp, the press of her fingers burning through the fabric of his shirt. Newt suddenly realizes how very close her face is, her body pressed against his, and that he has yet to release her. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Miss.. ah…”

Some of her hair sticks to her cheek. “Tina.”

He inclines his head. “Newt Scamander.”

It’s been so long since he’s been this close to a woman—anyone beside his brother really—blatantly staring as he thinks of what to do or say. This close he can feel her breath on his chin, warm and soft, see every eyelash, the color of her eyes (they are darker than he’d originally thought). _Very pretty_ , he thinks.

He clears his throat—once, twice—pulling away and stepping back so there’s a respectable distance between them. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he watches her slip her flats on, his gaze sliding up her legs to the crown of her head. His eyes are resolutely on the ground when she finishes and looks back at him.

It’s then he spots the rest of her things still in a pile, close to the mud puddle. He hurries to gather them up for her, scooping up a worn book, a golden locket, and what he thinks is a playing card. Further scrutiny reveals it isn’t so, but a tarot card. Newt studies it, noting the winged being hovering over a man and a woman before it’s snatched out of his hand.

Tina takes the rest of her things, slipping the locket around her neck and the card between the pages of her book. She seems oddly flustered, but Newt doesn’t know why.

“You’re also a fortune teller?”

“No, Queenie, my sister is… she's always reading my palms and looking into my future, but none of it has come true yet.”

Newt shakes his head, scoffing. He’d never believed in that sort of thing, too wishy-washy and unreliable for his taste. Normally the gipsies who’d offered him a glimpse of his future were less than true and spouted on about pre-destined lovers and a famous life ahead of him. It's only a moment later and a wry raise of an eyebrow that he realizes the accidental snub he enacted and quickly goes to remedy it. “Oh, no, I didn't mean—it's just that I don't, er…”

Luckily, he's saved from embarrassing himself in conversation when Pickett runs out of the tent flap and scurries up Newt’s legs to sit on his shoulders. The lemur curls his tail around his neck, loudly munching on a what Newt suspects is a caterpillar.

Tina looks at Pickett, head tilted. “So what everybody says is true—you don’t keep it in a cage. It’s fully tamed.”

That causes him to grimace, tucking his chin against the spiel he has ready on the undeserving prejudice concerning his animals. It seems the troop grapevine has been spreading. “I haven’t tamed him, no—he’s still as wild as any other animal.”

Her expression morphs into something different than before, more nervous. “So you have more, right?”

He puff his cheeks. “Oh, yes… about two dozen horses, ten elephants, six lions, five tigers, three sea lions, sixteen parrots, and five lemurs—” Pickett cackles a warning. “Six lemurs.”

“And do you have… polar bears?”

Newt nods, frowning at his forgetfulness. “Yes—two actually. Ursula and Alaska.”

Leta’s bears, actually, a small voice reminds him, but he shoos it away. They were his now and dealing with a change of handler better than he expected them too. They didn’t give him “kisses” like _her_ , but they did allow him to do every other trick. Feeding was a hassle with only one person, but he dealt with it well enough.

He clears his throat of the sudden lump, mentally chastising himself. It’s best if he didn’t think about that, especially about people who’d left for better things. “Hm, well, I must be getting back to them, so, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Wait!” He stops, confused and more than a little surprised when Tina steps in front of him, and he nearly jumps when she lays her hand on his chest. “There’s a reason I’m hanging around your tent.”

“There is?”

“Yes.” She hurriedly pulls her hand back when he blatantly glances down at it. “I was, um, wondering—hoping actually—if I could see your animals.”

“See my animals?”

“Well, actually your, um, bears.”

“I, er, don’t usually let anyone besides the assistants go near them. They’ve been a bit barmy lately and it’s best if they’re not bothered.”

“That's alright,” Tina says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Newt sees her deflate, feeling guilt build in his chest even though it has no right to be there. “I can see them during the show."

"Er, they won't be performing for a while..."

"Oh." Tina is looking everywhere except him, a delicate red coloring her cheeks and neck. She grips her books tighter and inches away from him.

Now Newt really does feel guilty. Never before has he ever regretted pushing someone away, especially a near stranger, but he does now and wants to lighten the blow somehow. Not many people want to come near him and his animals and now he's found one. He'd be daft to let it slip past.

He doesn’t realize he’s grabbed her hand until she tumbles back into him. “So sorry! How would you feel about helping me with feeding? Nothing too dangerous,” he reassures her, focused on the curl of her hair at her jaw. He drops her hand and fiddles with his suspenders. “I have to make my rounds and it's best if I had a helping hand.”

He makes a quick glance at her face, only to find himself unable to tear his eyes away. Her smile blooms before him and it's stunning.

“I'd like that.” She lets out a little laugh, dimples forming on her cheeks, and Newt can't help but smile back. “I’d like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Newt sees Tina came from a scene from the trailer for the [The Greatest Showman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXCTMGYUg9A).
> 
> If I'd written Leta in more, she would've been based off the Polar Bear Princess, Ursula Blütchen, who was a real person. You guys can check out her and other famous circus performers [here](http://www.thehumanmarvels.com) if you're interested!
> 
> Reviews are appreciated!


	3. foam on the crest of waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mermaidAU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you, returntosaturn, since you really, _really_ , wanted this written. :)

The woods of Upland New York are surprisingly rich, the morning dew still clinging to the thick trees and the birds just starting their morning routine. And had she been there on anything other than business, Tina would have appreciated the scenic view, but, as it was, that was not the case. The case was that it had taken quite a lot for her to convince Sergeant Graves to deal her in on this particular case and, in no way whatsoever, was she going to throw this opportunity away and go back to sitting in her desk all day. The rumors surrounding the notorious Manhattan Mauler was big business (four kills in a span of two weeks and counting) and she had to be on her toes to make sure they didn't get the slip on her.

So, here she is, walking along the ridge of the infamous dumping grounds for the city’s most sleazy crooks, hoping to catch a whiff of something, anything. It's this desperation that has her spotting the misfortunate shape tangled in the murky water.

She’s about to call it in when the body in question _moves_.

She doesn’t let herself think, going straight into action and starting down the rocky shore. Tugging off her coat and holster, she dives into the river. It's cold, shocking her momentarily, but she ignores the numbness that builds on her skin to swim into deeper water. She hasn’t gone swimming in some time, too busy with work to have a relaxing day at the beach, but the post isn’t so far where she actually has to tread water.

When she reaches the body, she immediately grabs hold—

—and the face turns toward her, eyes open wide, and gurgles out an angry reply.

She shrieks, slipping and falling back into the water. It fills her mouth and burns her nose, and she kicks out wildly when something that feels like a hand clasps around her ankle. Once it lets go, soaked and gasping for air, she crawls back to the shore.

Just beyond the safety of dry land, seafoam bubbles where Tina knew the body was flailing, ripples of waves sweeping out and splashing against her feet. A minute passes, then another, and she watches whatever is under the water struggle.

It's still stuck.

She curses. “Oh, for the love of—”

Against all of her survival instincts, she jumps back in the river and waddles to the _thing_. She can’t see much past the foam, but the netting is dark enough for her to latch onto. When pulling doesn't immediately free it, she pulls out the small knife she carries and starts cutting at the net. After a few tries, she tears a gaping hole the length of the thing’s body.

Then it’s free and something heavy slams in her chest, knocking her back underwater. She swallows nearly a quarter of a gallon, spitting it all out when she finally resurfaces, knife lost somewhere on the riverbed below her. A small coughing fit and she blinks away the saltwater of her eyes.

A face stares back.

Tina swallows a scream.

“Thank you,” it—he, Tina thinks, noting the square jaw and strong nose, remarkably handsome and male in structure—says. Pointed teeth peek out from pale lips when he speaks and Tina puts a little more distance between them, attempting a poor and awkward backstroke.  “Though you did nearly finish me off yourself—got me right in the gills.” He rubs his his cheek, wincing.

Tina finally reaches land. “What the _hell_ are you?”

“I thought it'd be obvious.” His tailfin rises out of the water, golden scales of delicate plating shining off what little sun shined past the overcast.

“You shouldn't exist!”

“I've never met a human before,” he says, ignoring her words. He looks almost fascinated.

She kicks out her heel when he starts to come closer, dragging his body with only the strength of his forearms, warding him off. “Ah ah ah, don’t you come any closer—hey!”

He's grabbed her ankle, inspecting her boot. “How do you swim with these anyway? And why do you cover it?”

“It's a shoe and _let go of my foot!”_

He rolls his eyes, too bright to be normal. They remind Tina of the eyes of an octopus showcased at the aquarium. “Yes, I’ve heard about shoes, but why do you have them? Wouldn't your species have evolved perfectly fine without them?”

She yanks her foot free, bringing her knees to be pressed against her chest and out of his reach. Water laps at her boots and she shimmies back to where she'd thrown her coat. “W-Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?” he asks, sounding confused and incredibly… British.

“Like _that_.”

He points to himself with a claw-like finger. “How I speak? I learned it from fishermen on the other side of the ocean, of course.”

“Then why are you in America? Don't you live near England or something?”

“New York is considerably more interesting than England,” he says as an explanation. “I’m glad I made the swim.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not!” she snaps. “I came here looking for a dead body and I found you! What am I supposed to tell Sergeant Graves when I go back? That I found a mermaid? I’d be kicked off the force!”

“Mermaid? Do I look like a maid to you?” Then fins at his back rise in offense. “And why would a human be looking for a body in the first place? Don’t you lot usually stay on land?”

“I’m a cop. That’s part of my job.” Tina shakes her head, making a frustrated noise. She can’t believe this is happening, that she’s arguing with something that shouldn’t exist. “Why did I have to be the one to find you?”

“I don’t see why you’re blaming me...”

“You were the one stuck, pal! You're lucky I didn't just leave you! One call and you would be on your way to an aquarium!”

His gills flare. “Well then, thank you for all your help. I’ll be on my way,” he says, beginning to shimmy his way back to deeper water.

“Oh no, you're not going anywhere!” Without thinking, Tina grabs his arm and yanks him back onto the shore. His skin is cold, slick, and unsettling to the touch, but she forces herself to keep hold of him. “I helped you, now you help me.”

He stares at her, surprised, not giving a bit of fight at her handling. There's no way for her to know if she can physically keep him here, but she'll be damned if she doesn't get something out of this crazy situation. Besides, if anything happens, she has her gun.

“What exactly do you want from me?”

Tina doesn't know herself until an idea forms in her head. It's ridiculous, stupid even, but she's desperate and maybe, just maybe, this could work out for the better for her.

“I'm looking for someone. A teenage kid, around eighteen. Skinny. Black hair. Bowl cut. He was last seen near Hudson Valley, Upstate New York.” At the his confused expression, she elaborates. “Around here.”

His grimace looks like a snarl. “I suppose this is the body you were talking about earlier.”

“Yes.” It was always bad when it was a kid, no matter if they were a ten year old or eighteen year old.

“Why is this one body so important to you?”

“Because it'll help me catch whoever killed him!” she huffs, patience thinning. “If we find a body, then that means I have a suspect.”

“They could just as easily kill you.”

“I catch criminals and killers.” Tina feels like she's explaining her job to her disapproving great aunts and uncles. “Never mind that! All I need is for you to check a couple of places along the river. Near the park across from New York City and like that. That's it, I swear.”

“There's nothing there,” he says like he's actually been there, which Tina doesn't believe for a second.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“How do you know I’m lying?”

“Because Pelham Bay Park is a dumping ground for the mafia, gangs, and drug lords,” she snaps, slapping the puddle of water around her. “If Credence’s body isn't there, then someone else’s is. If you'd checked we'd be having a different conversation right now.”

That stops him short.

Her phone buzzes from the folds of her coat and one glance at it tells her she has less than twenty minutes to get to Manhattan for the morning briefing. She gets to her feet and throws her coat on to stave off the cold, ignoring the eyes watching her as she’s putting away her gun. “Look, I have to go, but you better be here tomorrow and you better have checked the the coves by the park. And if you find something Mr. Mer—”

“Newt,” he interrupts suddenly. “You can call me Newt.”

“Newt… right...”

“If I do this will you tell me all about what you do? About humans and other land creatures?”

“Sure.” She'll do anything to get ahead in this case, snatching any help she can get, mermaid or not. “Just help me find him. Please.”

“Alright.”

“Good.” She shifts, almost unsure what to do now. He’s agreed to help her and that that’s, she supposes, so the only thing left to do is leave and go about the rest of her day like normal.

She does just that, feeling the prickling of his stare until the trees swallow her up.

* * *

 

She gets a handful of stares when she comes back to the precinct, still soaking wet. No one bothers to question her and that's fine by her.

She calls Queenie to bring her an extra set of clothes.

* * *

 

Despite her better judgement and a little voice inside her head telling her that she's stupid for asking a merperson to help her find a body, she comes the next day. She waits for ten minutes in the chilly morning, wrapping herself in her coat, feeling every bit of a fool.

And, just as she thinks she's wasted her time, she hears splashing. Not two seconds later, a head breaks the surface, fiery hair plastered to a wet forehead and a pair bright eyes watching her curiously.

Rather than show her relief, she motions him over like her Sergeant would any subordinate. She keeps her expression cool and professional, even when he ducks down into the water and reemerges at the dip of the shore barely five feet away. The shimmering of scales at his temple and forearms are more prominent now, as is the protruding ridges along his spine, but she resolutely moves past the oddities.

She doesn't say anything about how she didn't think he'd turn up, or how she’d laid awake most of the night wondering whether or not he'd been a figment of her imagination. She says nothing and they move along with this weird, abrupt coalition. Newt describes what is clearly the body of a woman wrapped in a tarp floating at the bottom of the river bed while Tina takes note. It's not Credence, but they're getting somewhere.

Strangely enough, he's more interested after that and Tina doesn’t know whether to be relieved he’s finally putting effort to help her or irritated that he’s using it to fulfill his own curiosities. Whatever his reasons, he puts in more effort to in his searches and Tina won't complain.

It becomes part of her schedule, an early morning trip that's out of her way from work and leaves her smelling like the sea for the rest of the day. What begins as a means of getting back on track with her case becomes something more. Newt offers an ear for her troubles, someone who's interested in the workings of her job and her life, fascinated by social constructs, questioning everything about modern inventions like cars and cellphones. It’s easy to spill ideas off him, explaining what the evidence meant and what suspects’ motives could be. He’s often soft spoken and inquisitive, if not a bit wicked at times, and she comes to enjoy her time with him.

She begins to bring food for him to try, different things each time. She rolls her eyes when he complains about the bitterness of her coffee and remarks that he's stolen tea from a careless fisherman on the other side of the ocean better than what she's drinking (there's a joke in there somewhere, she's sure of it). She roasts him for his current diet of raw Hudson bass and deep-sea crustacean in retaliation and grins when he can't argue.

Most often than naught he directs the attention to her, insistent on learning about the land animals he'll never see and the inventions he'll never know. “And you use these elevators to climb your buildings? Fascinating!” he'll say, or, “Are elephants really so much smaller than whales?” Tina doesn't know a lot about the mechanics of things or why land animals act the way they do, but she invests in books to bring to him to quell his curiosity.

His interest builds with every visit until she can see the desire breaking through every glance at the city just across the water. Tina thinks he might just swim to the city and crawl out into the streets, tail and all, and sternly reminds him to stay away or else get seen by a random tourist out to enjoy the view.

He scoffs. “I have stayed hidden for this long. Beside, I only want to see the city. Maybe a cat or two.”

Tina laughs. “Yeah, well, if you ever get your own pair of legs, I'll give you a tour someday.”

He’s in a quiet mood after her joke, one that she’s come to know to means he’s thinking of some little problem. She doesn't make anything of the peculiar expression on his face and leaves for work a little while later, happy.

* * *

 

He’s not there the next day.

Or the day after that.

Tina waits, sitting on the rocky shore until her behind is sore and her coffee goes cold, and stares out into the Hudson for any glimpse of gold. She spends minutes, hours there, hoping in a way she hasn’t in a long time, only to be left disappointed when her time runs out and she’s sprinting to work, arriving late and getting a scolding from Abernathy and Picquery.

The days that follow, she's left feeling like she’s been dumped. It’s silly, really, but there’s nothing she can do about it. _It was just for the case_ , she tells herself, hoping to soften the blow of what she refuses to label as rejection.

Queenie knows something’s wrong, but Tina doesn’t want to confide in her this fantastical story or else be presented as crazy. So she doesn’t tell anyone about the merpeople in the Hudson or that she’s somehow gotten to know one and is deeply missing him. She’s ready to shoulder this secret for the rest of her life, move past it and forget that she ever saved Newt from the net, even if the feeling in her chest has something to say about it.

She focuses on the case, putting all her resources in finding Credence’s body (because she knows it’s been too long to hope for a better end to his story). Without Newt to talk to, she’s back to theorizing with the rest of the force, only to find that something’s changed; she's changed. She's at the heart of the breakthroughs, becoming the unofficial lead investigator, with more knowledge of possible dumping sites in the Hudson than anyone else on the force.

And by the end of the week, neck deep in files of possible subjects and criminal records, she stops going to the spot altogether.

* * *

 

The sun is out and shining later in the week, a cold wind blowing the clouds into the distant horizon of the Atlantic.

Tina pays the vendor for her food and sets off to her usual route, hotdog in hand. The usual bodies that press and slip past one another on the sidewalk are easy to maneuver around and she makes it to the cross section to wait for the light to change, taking a bite of her hotdog and scanning the pedestrians nearby.

There’s the usual businessmen, with their pressed suits and tight-nit group, out for lunch. A homeless woman pushes her cart down the street, muttering to herself, while a couple of teenagers chat on the benches behind her. There’s a tall woman on her phone to her right and an elderly couple to her left, chatting in Chinese and pointing across the intersection.

Tina spots what caught their interest, a man in a blue coat haphazardly making his way against the general flow of people on the other side of the street. He’s faced away from her, neck craned to take in the electric billboards and overbearing skyscrapers of Times Square. A tourist then.

 _A suicidal tourist_ , she thinks a second later, when he openly staggers backwards out into the street, still gazing up, and into the path of oncoming traffic.

Tina doesn’t think, she just acts. Her body surges forward, lunging out into the busy street. She’s got a lifetime of living in New York and extensive police training under her belt, and she reaches the man in time to pull him out of the path of a taxi.

The driver leans out of his window as it passes and yells, “Move it, pal!”

The gangly man says something, but his voice is drowned out by the honking and sirens of the general city life. Tina ignores him and keeps an iron grip on the back of his coat, pushing and pulling him between the maze of cars that begin to stack up from traffic, nearly run over by a speeding cyclist. More drivers start to yell, offering a number of choice words that would usually have her whipping out her badge, but she only offers a quick retort and a stink eye.

They make it to the other side of the street in one piece. The onlookers give them a quick glance before going on their way, the tourist and foreigners eyeing them for a little longer. Tina doesn't pay them any attention, too busy catching her breath and lamenting over her discarded lunch.

“Hey, you better watch where you're going next time! You almost—”

She stops and gapes at the man when he smiles down at her, oblivious to his near death experience. _What in the world…_

His teeth are flat and his skin tanner, covered with more freckles when under the warm sun, while his eyes have dulled to a calming blue-green. His clothes are wrinkled and damp, his pant legs twisted as if he struggled to even get them on, and his great coat looks vintage, specks of sand in the crease of the collar. He smells like saltwater.

“Oh, hello, Tina,” Newt says, shuffling closer on his two, very _human_ legs. “Do you think you could show me around now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queue the police crime-drama starring fish-out-of-water Newt and annoyed-yet-smitten Tina, with occasional cameos of naive-but-lovable Jacob and the beautiful-and-somewhat-clairvoyant Queenie.


	4. when the full moon comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> werewolfAU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is currently my own personal favorite, so I hope you guys enjoy it!

The shed within Newt’s suitcase appears as it always does, a chaotic mess with an order only it's main inhabitant can decipher. It's a place where time seems to have stopped, rustic with an earthen smell, small and compact in an homey kind of way.

Yet, for Tina, something's off when she descends the stairs, her steps so light and cautious that the stairs don't offer a creek at her weight. There’s a muted undertone, one that had surely not been present the last time she visited. Usually, there’s some sort of ruckus whenever she enters, maybe a Billywig or two whizzing about, chased by the occasional Doxy and the lack of motion, of activity, of _life_ , sends her nerves on edge.

Tina spots Newt sitting on the stool at his desk, turned away from her, and she refrains from gripping her wand. She’s not a frightened deer, frozen in terror at the sight of the big, bad wolf—Newt is anything but.

She wasn't meant to see what she’d seen, she's sure about that now. It was an accident, a major one that they can't forget and move past, especially after she'd retreated so hastily (She hadn't run away, she tries to convince herself, she hadn't. Though no matter how many times she says it, it still feels like a lie). His case had been closed for a reason, hidden in the corner where she had to look twice to see, clearly set aside for a moment of solidarity, and she'd ignored it for a chance to spend time with a man she realizes she hardly knows.

He's focused on his work, dabbing the cuts on his knuckles with Dittany before wrapping them in bandages. Even when she walks around to stand in front of him, he doesn't give her a glance, and she doesn't know whether to be grateful or worried.

“There's been rumors about new, untested lycanthropy potions in Eurasia,” he says, startling her. “Mostly with rare ingredients like wolfsbane and silversword.”

Her voice won't work immediately and she's worried that if she does manage to say something it will come out weak and frightened, and that's definitely not what the both of them need right now. To see that they're falling into the common stereotype of misunderstanding and fear.

She wants to chastise him for keeping this from her. She wants to rant about safety hazards and violations and his irresponsibility at leaving his case lying around unattended with a faulty lock during the full moon where someone could get to it. Most of all, she wants to ask why he didn't trust her with this secret. They've known each other for quite some time now, writing when seas apart, and he’s had ample moments to confide in her. So why didn't he?

What she says instead: “That must be costly.”

Newt snorts. “One good thing that comes from traveling with a case full of magical creatures is that I’m never lacking in potion ingredients. I grow everything I need—or what I think I might need.”

They lapse into silence again, one that Tina finds deeply uncomfortable. She’s trying to figure out what to say and comes up short again, settling on watching Newt’s hands, his knuckles rubbed raw and red. He’s having trouble with his wounds, his less dominant hand shaking and clumsy when he uses it, but doesn't ask for her help. In the end, when the urge to help proves to be too strong, Tina steps forward and gently slaps his hand out of the way, grabbing the bandages and taking over.

“When?” she asks.

“The Sudanese girl—turns out she was more than just an Obscurial. I started planning after she… after she died.”

“What did you do?” It's easier to ask these questions, to keep to the safer side of an already dangerous subject. Now isn't the time to hound out answers about trust, no matter how much it burns her from the inside.

“There's not much to do, but I found a few ways. I mostly focus on the symptoms—dealing with the sickness before and after.”

At his slight nod, Tina glances at the assortment of instruments taking up his desk, a number of concoctions that she doesn't recognize smoking in the corners, while many of his plants are stripped bare. Next to a mortar filled with crushed indigo petals there are crumbled papers covered in Newt’s hasty writing. Lastly, Tina spots bottles, too large and familiar to be anything but liqueur. Another possible treatment, she supposes.

“I'm quite safe in my case,” Newt continues. “Usually I'm kept entertained so I don't hurt myself.”

Tina finishes wrapping his hand. Unable to help herself, she lingers, applying a gentle pressure on the wrappings, as if it will rub away the wounds underneath. Newt draws away quickly.

Tina lets her hands drop, but doesn't step back. Rather than focus on the rejection, she presses on. “One of your creatures?”

“Yes. It's the offspring of two werewolves who've mated when fully transformed. It's very intelligent and acts as regular wolves do.” He gazes at his hand, fingering the bandage at his wrist and Tina finally begins to wonder how he'd hurt himself. Was it after she'd run away? “There was a small problem in the beginning—I had to put more barriers around the more vulnerable creatures just to be safe. Two werewolves is one too many it seams.”

Newt goes quiet and Tina suddenly begins to read between the lines.

There's more to this than she'd originally thought, things she doesn't know and understand, and mentally curses herself for acting so rashly. Because of it, she'd done more harm than good and that's not what she wants. More than anything, she wishes she hadn't run away. She wishes that she didn't come back in the safety of the morning, when the difficulties had come and past. She wishes she knew the whole story, faced the problems with him, gave him the friend and confidant he needed.

“Newt…” she whispers, hating how he curls in on himself at the sound of her voice. This isn't what she wanted when she entered his case, not by a long shot.

It's the same as when she confronted Barebone, this feeling filling up her chest, when the horrible woman was beating Credence. Tina’s heart aches in sympathy, and she steps forward into the space between his legs and reaches out to pull him into a gentle hug.

He's tense, incredibly so, the muscles at his back hard under her fingers. Despite that, he returns the gesture, wrapping his arms around her waist in a tight embrace. He’s shaking.

“Most suffering from lycanthropy don't have the means to contain themselves every full moon, much less find alternative ways to dull down their transformation. I was lucky I found a Brazilian wizard who specialized in potion making who could help me.” A small, hollow laugh escapes him. “Though he kicked me out as soon as I told him it was for myself. I think I gave him a near fright.”

Tina sweeps her hands over his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt. “Does it help? The potion?”

“A little. It's not a permanent solution, but the pain is dulled and I've gotten less wounds because of it. I'm still a danger to humans.” He presses his face against her stomach, breathing deeply, the warmth of his breath seeping into her shirt. “I’ve also tried breathing in spices and other strong-smelling herbs. I thought that if I can make my sense of smell useless I wouldn't be prone to attack humans if one ever chances in entering the case.”

“Does it work?” she asks.

Newt shakes his head, pulling her a little closer and hugging her a little tighter. Her legs are starting to ache from standing for so long, but she ignores it, and instead forces herself to be the immovable object that anchors him to the present.

Silence envelops them, the calls of his creatures muted by the walls of his shed. Letting him have a moment, Tina focuses on rubbing his back. It's strange to see him without his waistcoat, even stranger to see his bracers down and his clothes in disarray; she knows he throws propriety aside when he's inside the case, but he's always had been put together whenever she's with him, a respectable gentleman. They've never been this intimate, but the time to skirt around one another is long past. She'd abandon all social constructs in favor of rebuilding the man in her arms, to coddle him until he got past this low moment and regained his usual self.

Her hands drift to the nape of his neck, heat radiating off his skin, and she feels a strange sense nostalgia. When she'd been alive, her mother had been overly affectionate, and Tina had always felt better after her mother had hugged her, played with her hair, offering little touches that told her she was cared for.

She thinks Newt hasn't been touched enough.

“What else?”

“I met a Chinese wizard who suffered from lycanthropy as well and he offered another solution. A sort of opium mixed with wolfsbane that renders him docile.”

“But…” There's always a catch.

“It's highly addictive and he was halfway dependent on it when I came to him.”

Tina tries not to imagine the man before her, completely spent and under the drug's effects, left helpless and vacant for who knows how long. It doesn't sit well with her.

“Does your family know?”

Her question has the opposite reaction she was hoping for. All at once, Newt grows tense, leaning away as if to separate himself from her completely. But, before he can get up, Tina tightens her hold on him, silently informing him that she _will not let go_ , not until they're finished. Not until this stops hanging over them like an impending thundercloud. She pushes a little further, gently running her fingers through his hair. He calms down quickly at her ministrations, falling back into her embrace.

“No,” he sighs. “Only you.”

All at once, the hollow feeling from before fades. The hint of betrayal still lingers, but it's overshadowed by the sudden burst of emotion in her chest for man in her arms.

“What should we do now?”

He looks at her then, craning his neck to finally meet her eye, searching her face with something akin to desperation. It's then that Tina gets a good look at him, noting the bruises under his eyes, the weariness that's etched in every crease and shadow outlining his face. Even the warm lighting from the lantern above them does nothing for his haggard appearance.

She tilts her head.

Newt’s expression falters to something more vulnerable and, in one great exhale, he deflates, his relief palpable. He’s staring at her like she's the moon and, instead of damning him to the torture he endures every month, she'll be the one to save him. In that moment, Tina realizes she wants to give him just that.

Her resolve strengthens even more, her hands leaving his hair and running along the length of his jaw, the rough feel of his scruff prickling her skin. She wipes away the tears on his cheeks. “You'll have to trust me.”

Slowly, Newt slips his hand lay atop hers, leaning more into the touch. He nods somewhat frantically, finally offering a wet smile.

There's a lot ahead, secrets that'll need to be told and ideas that'll need to be considered, Tina knows, but that could be put off for a little while. For now, they hang in the moment, wrapped up in each other arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, I really should have them kiss or something in one of these AUs. ;)


	5. all of time and space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> doctor whoAU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt is awkward, has a pocket watch, and wears a blue greatcoat. Of course I'm making this AU. This is more for me than anyone else. :D

“Will you miss him?”

Newt nearly bangs his head on one of the hanging screens. “Excuse me?”

“Jacob,” Tina elaborates. She's leaning against bannister surrounding the main panel, watching him fiddle with the controls. A few wires fritz in the aftermath of a dodgy repair, done so in a tight spot on Maserith’s third moon during its Festival of Comets, when his brother had laughed himself to tears at Newt’s first test flight in the spacecraft and how he had broken the tribophysical waveform macro-kinetic extrapolator within minutes of use. “Will you miss him?”

Behind her the walls are lined with an assortment of instruments, ranging from low tech to modern. Newt doesn't think he's used half of them, but it's always best to be prepared for any situation, even if he keeps losing track of them and putting them back in the wrong places.

It's been a clutter ever since his last reincarnation.

“Of course,” he says.

Jacob had been awed by the sight of New York in the twenty-first century, beyond words as he took in the Time Square and the bustle of bodies skipping across sidewalks and talking to handheld devices. Even more so when they’d visited New New York. He'd gone from early models of Ford automobiles to hovercrafts in the blink of an eye and _whirl_ of Newt’s TARDIS, and taken it in wonderful stride. He had had a taste of the future and come back the same lovable man (with a smidge more knowledgeable of the universe at large).

Most species, past, present, and future, tended to find Newt annoying. Even being a Time Lord couldn't stop his attitude being less than patronizing. Jacob was the first who didn’t want him gone the moment he opened his mouth—well, maybe a little, but at least he had the good grace to smile and nod whenever certain moments arrived—and Newt is certain that finding another like him in the universe would be near impossible.

He shakes away the feeling. It’s best to focus on the now rather than wallow about what’s past. Jacob would be happy, he knows.

He abandons the main console for a moment to busy himself with the beginning preparations of feeding, placing three crates of foreign meat by the bottom step of the stairway that leads to the habitats of primarily aerial species. He separates the semi-poisonous plants from the Halg galaxy for a later feeding for the murtlap, and the Pilaxian brain for the Swooping Evil is left on an empty shelf where it won't contaminate anything with its psychedelic mucus.

“And you? Will you miss your sister?” None of it’s his business, but he asks anyway. Despite the occasional irks at being read so easily, Newt had liked the blonde who ultimately decided to stay behind in the roaring twenties with the man she’d grown affections for.

“Everyone has to go their separate ways and live their own life at some point. Both me and Queenie knew that.”

He nods in agreement, focused on logging on the supply count to the database. When that's done, he makes his way back to the controls. “Well, I’ll set the coordinates to the twenty-first century. Any particular place you’d like to be dropped off?”

“Dropped off?”

He blinks, confused. “I assumed you wanted to head home. You've talked about returning to your work, did you not?”

Instead of answering, she changes the topic. “There's police in space, right?”

“Oh, yes—they’re very annoying, if you ask me. Most law enforcement is.” He grimaces, realizing his words too late.

Thankfully, Tina sees it more as a joke than a jab. She laughs. “I think that's because you don't follow the rules, Newt. Intergalactic police probably tremble in terror at the mere mention of you.”

“I don’t usually cause trouble. In fact, it’s all too exciting for me. A boring, old life—one with three Kneazles and limitless tea—that’s all I want.”

“Says the man who travels time and space to help extraterrestrial species.”

He can't argue with that. Tina must know this because she smiles again. She doesn’t step away, purposely keeping close or unaware of it, and Newt’s left with nothing to do but stare into her eyes.

They're suddenly colored in pale light, shining from the skylight above as the ship passes under a small moon. Shadows sweep along Tina’s cheek, sliding to dip into her collarbone, and Newt jerks his head to looks at the panel in front of him.

“We're leaving Felai Praxin’s solar system,” he comments offhandedly. He can hear the beat of his erratic hearts in his ears.

“What if I came with you?” Tina, purposefully ignoring the previous information, steps forward until the tip of their shoes brush.

“Come with me?” Newt asks, confused. He risks a glance at her direction again. She’s still staring at him, not even the view of the cosmos above enough to grab her attention, and Newt can’t look away. “Why… why would you want to do that?”

“I want to help.”

One of his hearts stutters so quick he almost doesn't catch it. It's strange how such a simple sentence can mean so much. Tina’s words mean one thing, righteous and professional, but her stare is pleading for something else (at least, he thinks it does), and Newt would very much like to say yes to both. But he has to stop letting her get so close, or else he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to her again. However, Newt is a weak man and this is something he simply can’t—won’t, refuse.

“Then I'd be delighted if you accompanied me.”

Tina laughs, delighted. She presses a chaste kiss to his cheek in her happiness before hopping about like a teenager rather than the professional detective she is. It’s absolutely charming.

 _Too late_ , Newt thinks, staring, enthralled and a little delirious. The trap is sprung and there’s no way he can escape this (attempting to break away from the gravitational pull of a black hole seems easier in comparison). He doesn’t think he wants to. He tries to roll past the realization, to focus on getting the TARDIS ready for departure. He goes to activate the engine.

It's already flipped. Tina moves to the opposite end of the control, tossing her coat to where his blue greatcoat lays, peering at the switches and knobs in front of her, looking relatively at ease with the technology in front of her (as well as any human when faced with Time Lord technology).

He starts up the thrusters, glancing at Tina from the corner of his eye as the vibrations under his feet grow, finding her already looking at him. Her eyes are bright under the luminescent lighting, like the galvanic radiation from an x-tonic star, lethal and beautiful.

“Well, Ms. Tina, the whole universe is at your disposal. Who do you want to save first?”

“Hmm…” She slides closer, playing along, contemplating the hologram before her, before idly tapping a small planet nestled in the middle of a galaxy dotted with shimmering stars and swirling planetary systems. “Here.”

Newt hums. “Canref. It's settled in the middle of the migration path of Orcus galacticus. Poachers will be there around this time.”

“We better get a move on then, shouldn't we?”

Newt doesn't hold back the smile this time, placing his hand on the thrusters next to hers. It’s exhilarating and real, how she laughs.

“Well then,” he says, “here we go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is finished, but I'm waiting for my betas to look over it! *cheers* And anyone wants to read more of a doctor whoAU, there's [Fantastic Humanity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9448043) by esama. It's really great! Check it out!
> 
> Like always, kudos and comments are appreciated! :)


	6. better to be a cursed man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cursedAU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a mashup of three AUs (modern, vet/detective, and curse). Amazing, I know. XD
> 
> For future reference, Pickett is an Egyptian Mau.

Newt raises his hands slowly. “I know this looks incriminating—”

“Try real incriminating,” says the woman currently pointing her gun at his chest. She comes forward, apprehensive in the low lighting of the museum. When she's close enough, she turns him around and forces his hands behind his back.

Newt doesn’t offer any struggle, only sighing as cuffs are slapped on his wrists. “I don't see why you're arresting me.”

“Breaking and entering and destruction of property are pretty good reasons,” she says. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, the state will provide you with one.”

This isn't what Newt had planned, nor wanted, when he'd entered the museum after hours to be honest. Being arrested is the last thing he wants to deal with. He has things to do—on a time limit no less.

The officer’s gaze rakes over the room and he can already tell what assumptions she has about him. Newt had already prepared most of the ritual, drawn the proper symbols in chalk in the middle of the room. The smell of herbs had already pervaded, stifling any other scents.

If her expression is anything to go by, the woman’s not happy with any of it. “What are you? Some kind of cultist?” she asks, toeing a wax candle.

Newt frowns, somewhat offended. “No, of course not.”

“Then what's all this?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Uh huh…” She starts pulling him to the exit. “Well, Mr. Cultist, how about you come with me downtown to the station.”

“I'm not a cultist!” Newt says, annoyed. “But I have a ritual to finish, so, if you'll just let me go, I can get back to it.”

“Yeah, buddy, like I'll—”

Pickett growls low in his throat from the confines of his carrier and the officer jumps, just spotting him. Then, in a stroke of luck (good or bad, Newt doesn’t know), the museum’s infrastructure shakes, startling them both. The vases rock within their glass cases, the painting rattling on the walls alongside them, and coupled with the wiccan supplies Newt’s laid about, the overall effect is ghostly.

Then, as quickly as it began, it stops. The room is still once more, but the eerie feeling continues. The shadows seem to have grown, stretching from the crevices hidden from eyesight, reaching for their shoes. The room feels bigger, emptier, but full at once, like something’s hiding just beyond sight.

“What was that?” the officer says, confused.

“That'd be the curse.”

Just as he expected, he's not believed. “Probably a small earthquake.”

Newt twist to look at the woman. She’s about his age, with a short haircut and a pretty face that’s currently far too serious for a simple break-in. “You’re not one of those people who refuses to believe in something even in the face of proof, are you?”

She snorts. “You’re delusional. I’m taking you in.”

She means jail, Newt’s sure, but that can’t happen. Not now.

A low groan comes from the pet carrier, as much of a warning Newt will get. The shakes were only the beginning, no doubt.

Shaking off the officer, Newt lunges back to the center of the room, the officer following after with an angry curse. She nearly bowls him over with a tackle and they stumble back into the safety of the pentacle. None of the symbols are compromised in the small scuffle.

This time the officer isn’t too gentle when she grabs hold of his arms, forcing them to twist back a little too far than comfortable. “Do I have to add evading arrest to—“

She stops and Newt knows why.

Black vapor seeps through the moulding on the far wall (Newt was wondering when it would full solidify), somehow thicker than air and sinking to the ground. It moves like a mass of roaches, slowly crawling out and toward them. Picket whines from his carrier, his eyes flashing in the dim light.

"That's not..." The woman stalls in face of the supernatural. "Possible."

"I told you I was telling the truth." Newt eyes the curse warily. They’re perfect safe inside the pentacle of chalk, but that’s no reason to dilly dally. “I love these handcuffs,” he says and, after a quick flashing heat, his hands are free.

The officer skitters away. “Sweet Mary Joseph—”

“So sorry. My fault.” He rubs his wrists and what’s left of the cuffs fall to the floor in an ashy pile. “I completely forgot to tell you. I am slightly cursed myself.”

“You just—that’s not—” She stares at what remains of the cuffs, wide eyed. “ _You're_ cursed?”

“Only a little.” Now free, Newt hurries back to what he was doing before she’d interrupted him, gathering his things. He slips his extra talisman around her neck as a safety measure while he’s at it. “I'm currently working on it—don't take that off. Once we get moving that’s the only thing that’ll protect you.”

"You've got to be kidding me." The officer examines the talisman, but doesn’t try to remove it. “How many curses are you dealing with?”

He rocks his head side to side, contemplating. “Two or three.”

“What? Is this your job or something?”

“Not generally, no. Usually I spend my days at the clinic.”

“You're a doctor?”

“Vet.”

“Great…” Despite the less than happy woman’s tone, she’s at least accepting his words and not labeling him as crazy anymore. Good. That means he isn’t going to be arrested anytime soon. She watches him bend down to the pet carrier. “And the cat is...?”

“Pickett. He’s the reason I’m cursed, actually. Someone must have abandoned him because of it. Luckily, I found him.” Newt strokes Pickett’s head, calming him enough to be taken out of the carrier. “I couldn’t just let it kill him.”

Pickett climbs up and onto his shoulders, small enough to balance perfectly near the juncture of his neck and shoulder. His attention doesn’t waver from the curse, letting out a low huff, the sound trailing off into soft moan.

“So you're a cultist and an animal activist.”

“For the last time, I’m not—“

She points to the black mass that’s edging around the barrier surrounding them. “What is that thing?”

Newt sighs, exasperated. Was she not listening? “I already told you. It’s a curse and a big one at that.”

“And you’re trying to get rid of it?”

“Yes,” he says. “Then you started to arrest me and now here we are. Would you like to continue talking in circles or can we get a move on? We don’t have all night. Whether or not you believe me, we have to go.”

“No, I…” Her hand drift to her holster.

”Bullets won’t help. You can certainly try, but it would be better time spent if you believed me.”

She leaves her gun holstered. "You've dealt with this before?"

"Yes—well, yes and no. This whole curse-lifting is recently new, but I think I've gotten the hang of it. No need to worry." He accidentally kicks the pet carrier, sending it tumbling out of the barrier and straight to the curse. It swallows it whole. Interesting. "But we can both agree that I wasn't lying, yes?"

“I cant believe I’m saying this, but… yes, I believe you. There’s just no other explanation to all _this._  Either that or I’m crazy. This is crazy—you’re crazy.” The officer groans. “I’m definitely going to lose my badge for this.”

“Well, if I fail, you won't have to worry about that anymore.” He gives her a quick smile, trying for a joke, but stifles it when he meets her eye.

“Not helping.” She rubs her temple, looking weary. A side effect of the curse being so near.

There's nothing he can say to reassure her (and he didn’t bring anything to alleviate the symptoms of the curse), so he does the next best thing. He offers her his hand. “Newt Scamander.” When the woman edges away from contact, he jumps to smooth over her worry. “This particular curse won’t hurt you, don’t worry. It manifests by verbal cues.”

After a moment of doubt, she takes his hand. They shake. “Tina Goldstein.”

“Nice you meet you Tina,” he says, shoving his herbs in her arms. “Hopefully you won’t end up dead by the end of the night.”

“Funny.”

He was being serious, at least partly, but decides it's best not to tell her that. He hurriedly layers the pentacle with more salt before the curse can compromise it before they're ready to move. He shushes Pickett when they get close to the curse, making the cat growl unhappily. “I was planning on doing this alone, but I could use the help. You brought backup, yes? We’ll have to warn them.”

“No, it’s just me.”

Newt glances over his shoulder, surprised. He would’ve assume that the police force in America would have some sort of protocol. Then again, he doesn't expect much from law enforcement in general, so it doesn’t come as a big shock to him.

Tina glares at him, daring him to comment. He lets it be.

“Right. Just us then.” With the curse already powerfull enough to have taken shape, most of his supplies as useless (except for the protection he’d given Tina), so he decides to leave them. That leaves him with only one thing to carry. “We’ll have to contain the curse and dispose of it after.”

She eyes his choice. “In an old suitcase?”

“Yes. I’d usually use a bottle or something similar, but it’s a rather big curse. It’ll fit in this, I think.”

“You think? How are you going to get it in there?”

Pickett’s begins to growl in earnest now, rising above the unsettling warble of the curse. Newt feels the vibrations, feels the cat’s fur at his neck rise and shiver. “Bait.”

“You’re definitely crazy.”

“Maybe so, but better I deal with this than some other bloke.”

Before Tina can respond, Pickett yowls suddenly. Back arched and tail straight, he bares his teeth at the curse, his claws digging into Newt’s skin painfully. The black mass shrinks back a fraction, but comes right back, bubbling at the edge of the pentacle, hissing when it finally overtakes a piece of the salt barrier. A sulfuric smell overtakes the previous herbal one, making Newt want to gag.

Their time has run out.

He grabs Tina’s hand. “Ready?”

“You’re crazy,” she says again, but doesn’t shove him away. “And, even if you’re not crazy, I’m still going to take you in when this is all over.”

Even with the curse slowly encircling their last means of protection, Newt laughs. “How dedicated.”

There’s a sharp _snap_ , like someone set off a small firework, and the curse washes over the the salt and surges toward them.

They run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween y’all!


	7. we are all subjects to the fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dæmonAU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the second week of Newtina Appreciation Month (AU). I know I'm late by 3 days, but I never got time to post this! Better late than never, I always say!

A woman with a peregrine falcon perched on her shoulder pulls Newt aside after his niffler fiasco.

Though ‘pulls aside’ is a rather loose way of phrasing—rather, she grabs him at the crook of the elbow before he can make his quick getaway and whisks him and Diana to a secluded alleyway where she proceeds to chew him out about the Statute of Secrecy and runaway Muggles. He listens to the best of his ability, gaze flicker between her face and her dæmon, but gets distracted halfway through by the smidge of mustard caught at the corner of her mouth, halfheartedly attempting to tell her amidst the scolding on to hum and shift when she throws him the most unimpressed look he’s ever seen.

The falcon doesn't stray it's gaze away from Diana the entire time. Perhaps it's to make sure she doesn't try anything funny while Newt and the woman talk (which is so absurd that it’s laughable, for Diana is nothing but respectable), but, even so, neither Newt nor Diana appreciate the attention. She was a wolf, not some unpredictable stray.

An unusual dæmon for an auror, Newt thinks offhandedly. He expected a canine of some sort. Nonetheless, the blue-grey color of the its feathers is intriguing.

A badge is flashed and he sees the words ‘MACUSA’ and ‘Goldstein’ before it's stuffed back into the woman’s coat; the shine of the badge matches the stern way she talks of Salemers and law breaking, how he’s currently tallied up to half a dozen infractions in the span of an hour. “I'm taking you in,” she finally says in a no nonsense tone.

Nothing Newt can do persuaded the woman differently, so he grudgingly lets her step closer to grip his arm tightly. Diana leans against his leg and he grabs hold of tufts of her fur as Ms. Goldstein takes them into custody.

* * *

At dinner, Diana sits by his feet, her side pressed against firmly his suitcase. Occasionally she'll peek over the tabletop whenever the younger Goldstein sister and Mr. Kowalski have a particularly exuberant laugh, but, besides that, doesn't bother to partake in the conversation.

The other dæmons get along swimmingly, Queenie’s stoat chattering happily with Mr. Kowalski’s labrador. One look at the four of them and Newt knows he's seeing something amazing in real time. Except there's not time to think out that, not when he has a niffler (and possibly so much more) running around free in New York City, but he refrains from thinking on it too long, else be heard.

“You two can bunk in here,” Ms. Goldstein says when he tries to excuse himself. He makes another go, mumbling about other accommodations, but that fails as well.

Her dæmon shifts its stance on the chair, staring at him with fierce, unblinking eyes. “It's late. We would be happy to offer you a place to stay for the night.”

Diana huffs quietly.

“You can make it to the bed, can't you, sweetie?” Queenie asks worriedly. Across from her Jacob’s still sweating profusely, his dæmon, Madeleine if Newt recalls correctly, looking tired as she pants and slips into a ungracefull sprawl along the wooden floor.

The Muggle dabs his face with a napkin, muttering about a sudden flare up of nausea, but wordlessly accepts Newt’s help out of his seat. He sways, but stays standing.

Ms. Goldstein is already setting up the beds and Newt can do nothing but guide Mr. Kowalski across the room. Bordered with the oven on one side and the table on the other, room is sparse and he shoulders a chair, upsetting Ms. Goldstein’s dæmon. It attempts to nip at him and launches toward the bedroom, and Newt’s not quick enough, the whisper of a feather on his cheek for one fleeting moment. He freezes, startled, and Diana shakes like she’s just finished a bath.

“Be careful, Mordecai,” Queenie's sighs, her attention turning to Newt before focusing on her sister, frowning when Ms. Goldstein carefully slides her hands along her sides before hiding them behind her back. When her sister doesn’t make a move to get up or say anything, the blonde visibly shakes herself of the moment, offering Newt a small smile. “Sorry about that, he’s usually not so—”

“—standoffish,” her dæmon finishes.

Newt nods wordlessly, casting a quick glance at the doorway before shuffling off to the offered rooms.

* * *

They sneak out the second the sisters leave him and Jacob alone. A quick trip into his case and the man accepts Newt’s request to round up his creatures, confused, but with good intentions. Madeleine and her nose is certainly useful, keeping them on track when Jacob’s memory falters with the city’s layout.

“They're going to be angry,” Diana whispers when they’re on the streets, if only to put the words out in the open.

Newt knows who she's referring to. How could he not when her thoughts and emotions are pulsing through their bond, implementing her dislike of their current situation. “Couldn't be helped. You know that.”

Diana doesn’t answer. Her silence doesn't stop her from reminding him of their kindness, that the sisters did, in fact, house them and feed them. Most people weren't that courteous.

He frowns, observing the shop fronts they pass by. “You worry too much.”

“And you don't worry enough.”

Newt turns a quizzical frown in her direction; her mane, just as wild as his own windblown hair, is fluffed out and making her appear bigger than she is, large ears angled outward and down. He prods at their bond, not sure exactly why the circumstance bothers her so much. He’s been just as crude to other people, so this situation, with these American witches, shouldn’t be any different. He has his creatures to think about.

Jacob interrupts them. “Hey, Newt! I think Maddie found something!”

Right. They had more important matters to focus on instead of arguing over failed etiquette. His creatures needed to be found and everything else took second place.

Diana leaves him be, but they're both acutely aware of the argument gone unsolved.

* * *

Newt focuses on his hands, picking at his nails, and tries to ignore the hollow feeling building in his chest.

His creatures are gone, taken from him. Who knew what fate awaited them at the hands of MACUSA and the mysterious Mr. Graves. They're in the hands of people who wouldn't hesitate to see them destroyed and that's a most terrifying thought.

Diana snuggles closer and Newt abandons his ugly habit to grip her fur. He stares at her and definitely not at the woman who hasn't taken her eyes off him once.

“Obscurials don’t live long, do they?” she asks.

Newt shakes his head and tells her all he knows on the matter, all he’s seen. Tells her of the Sudanese girl, hated and abused. Tells her about what Obscurus’ truly do to their host, hollowly recounting the last moment of the little girl, her nameless dæmon swallowed by the dark infestation, gone forever.

Diana rests her head in his lap, tears seeping into her fur. “She was so small…”

* * *

Newt takes care of the executioners with the help of the Swooping Evil while Diana holds their dæmons at bay. She bares her fangs in a fearsome snarl like the wild creature she is, snapping at the dogs dæmons that get close; with their humans incapacitated, but unharmed, they keep respectable distance.

“Newt,” Diana calls and he hurries over to the cage she's frantically pawing. Once Pickett’s dealt with the lock, he rips it open and ushers out the falcon dæmon trapped inside.

And then there's Tina hovering over the death potion. It rises up, ready to engulf her completely. She yells while Mordecai screeches in fear.

The Swooping Evil darts by and Newt creates a plan. A wild plan, but it's the only one they've got. He whistled and the creature twists to circle Tina. “Jump on him!”

“Are you crazy!”

“I'll catch you, Tina,” he says, reaching out.

“Trust us!” Diana steps up beside him, as close to the death potion as she'll dare. Mordecai shuffles anxiously between her forelegs.

Newt reaches out. “Tina,” he says, quietly. “I’ll catch you.”

She jumps.

* * *

There’s a ruckus on fifth and sixth that Newt knows isn’t a demiguise.

They split up in pairs, Tina sticking to his side while Jacob and Queenie head in the opposite direction. Newt’s more than positive they’ll find Dougal, leaving him and Tina with the bigger problem to deal with.

“You have an Armoured Bear?” Tina asks incredulously when he finally tells her his suspicions. “And you brought it to New York City?”

“It’s only temporarily. Just until he gets back on his feet.” Newt keeps his pace brisk, keeping an eye on the street signs. They should be near where Gnarlack said to go. “He's had his armour stolen, you see, and finding each piece has been slow.”

Something sounds out further ahead and Newt hurriedly ducks back to press himself against the wall. Tina’s right beside him.

“Next you’ll tell me your mother's one of the original Witches.”

“Great-great-grandmother, actually,” he says, sneaking a glance around the corner. “Oh, bugger.”

“What?” Tina says.

Newt turns to her. “He’s gotten into a Muggle speakeasy.”

“What’s a bear doing in there?”

“I’ve been trying to lean him off spirits, but he’s a persistent alcoholic.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” When Newt doesn’t respond and is, in fact, being serious, Tina eyes grow big. She gets close to take a look herself. “Amoured Bears don’t drink!”

“This one does.” Mordecai flies to the streetlamp at the corner and eyes the building with interest. “What’s the plan then?”

Diana sighs. “There is no plan,” she says as Newt makes his way by himself to the building.

“Newt!” Tina calls, frantic.

Newt ignores them, focused on making his steps light and silent. The display windows of the storefront have been shattered, their wooden frames broken and splintered like something tried to force itself through. He spies tufts of white fur against the broken glass, hears grunts and breaking of glass coming from inside, and knows he’s found the right bear.

Mordecai is the first to catch up, flapping to keep eye-level. “You don’t think things through do you?” he asks as Newt enters the establishment.

The owners must have been passing it off as a restaurant of some sort, what Newt assumes was once a quaint dining room now a mess of tables and chairs. Further in, the shadows move. A shape rises out from the hole in the wall that leads to the kitchen, turning white as it slips into what little moonlight shines through the broken windows, until it takes the form of a bear. Red wine stains his muzzle red like a fresh kill.

“Oh, hello, Iorek.” Newt keeps his tone cheery even as the bear rises on his hind legs, towering over him.

“Well, if isn’t Mr. Scamander, my persistent keeper. Come to put me back into your traveling circus of beasts?”

Newt tries not to be offended. He’s dealt with drunks before and could do it now. “It is quite late. How about we retire for the night? Don’t want the Muggles wake up and start a panic.”

“Mercy Lewis,” Tina whispers just behind Newt, “he’s huge!”

“And who are you?” the bear asks, squinting down at Tina like she’s a small critter bothering him.

“Tina Goldstein. I, uh, work for MACUSA—”

Newt winces.

“MACUSA!” Iorek snaps his jaws. “You brought a MACUSA agent to capture me!”

“No, no, she’s not here to capture you.” Newt steps in between Iorek and Tina. Diana slinks closer to press against his knees, tail between her legs. “She’s, well, there’s a reasonable answer as to why she’s here. It’s been long a day—I’ll gladly tell you all about it back in my case.”

That’s the wrong thing to say apparently. “No case! No more! I am not one of your pets to be traded!”

“Now you know that’s not true! We made a deal, you and I. I help you recover your armour—”

“And I’m still no closer to having it back!” The bear stumbles forward a step and, to Newt’s dismay, swallows down all the liquor from one of the bottles in his paws. “How long has it been now? Almost a year?”

“Almost a year, yes, but—”

“How about you put down the bottle,” Mordecai suggests at Tina’s shoulder. “I think you’ve reached your limit.”

“Speak again and I’ll be picking you out of my teeth.”

Unlike Tina, Mordecai doesn’t look bothered by the threat. His feathers rise, doubling his size. “Like you could catch me, bear.”

“Mordecai,” Tina hisses as both her and Newt back away.

The bottles falls from the bear’s grip, spilling alcohol and glass across the floor, and he drops onto all fours, prowling forward. The room suddenly becomes much too crowded, too little for an offended bear and the two humans currently in his sights, and Newt thinks that maybe he should’ve thought this through.

“You know you’ll regret this later,” he tells Iorek in a last effort to reason. “Remember what happened in Greenland.”

Diana whines. “I hated Greenland.”

Tina grips Newt’s coat when she nearly stumbles into a table. “Please. We’re just trying to help.”

“Trying to help? Bah! You’re kind is the reason my armour was taken from me!” They’re almost at the front of the place now and Iorek looks even more fearsome out of the shadows. He snaps at Tina, his voice dipping further until it rumbles like a Muggle automobile. “All of my troubles are because of you!”

A growl startles them, not because it comes from the advancing bear, but from the dæmon at Newt’s side. “That’s a lie!”

“Diana—don’t.” He has no idea where this anger is coming from, but it’s not helping the situation.

She doesn’t listen. “You have no one to blame but yourself for that! You got fooled in the first place by being a poor excuse of a bear! You—” Her ears flatten at the sudden realization of her words, their reservoir of bravery run dry. “Oh no…”

Iorek bares his fangs, sharp, white daggers that could tear flesh of bones, the rancid smell of meat and spirits hitting Newt in the face. He roars.

Newt grabs Tina’s hand. “Run!”

* * *

Credence is scattered along the subway, ripped pieces of black that fade into the Dust even as Newt clutches at Diana.

MACUSA aurors come and go, taking control of a situation that shouldn’t have been left to fester, but in light of recent events Newt’s glad that they leave him be. He’s already done what he can, released Frank and wiped the Muggles’ memories of the night, dealt with a madman willing to violate the most horrific taboo known to man, and now it’s time for him to focus on the one person who truly matters.

Diana presses her forehead against his and the pain, physical and emotional, alleviates a little. She ducks forward to squeeze herself into the space between his arms and all Newt can do is stroke her fur like it will wash away Grindelwald's tainted touch.

There’s a soft touch on his shoulder and he glances up to see Tina leaning over him. She’s covered in dust and grime, paling her skin and clothes to match the dreary underground, but her eyes are brown and warm and concerned. Mordecai stands guard, his size not as formidable as the other dæmons around, and he would look silly if Newt didn’t appreciate it so much. “Newt…?”

He swallows and tries to move past the lingering feeling of _wrongness_ that won’t go away no matter how much he’d like it to, a violation to his very being. “We’re fine,” he says and hopes it's true. “We’ll be fine.”

* * *

After saying goodbye to Jacob, Newt’s not entirely sure what to do.

Frank’s gone, flying off to what Newt hopes is Arizona, as his reason for being in America in the first place. He’d expected to pass through New York, to travel to Arizona by train, and has planned his return a week later. Only now he has a week to waste.

He tags along the Goldstein sisters back to their brownstone, lingering at their door as they vanish into their room. The home is near quiet, the soft ticking of the clock setting a constant rhythm for his heart to follow, a difficult task after the night he’s had, and Newt tries to loosen his grip on his case and calm himself. He succeeds only slightly.

Diana jumps on the couch and eyes him like she expects something of him, only he doesn’t know what. Mordecai nestles on the armrest just beside her, keeping an eye on them both, although Newt thinks the attention is less on him.

He’s considering that maybe, he should have a seat himself when, a moment later, Tina emerges from her room. Her cheeks are flush and her eyes red. “Sorry about that. Queenie’s—”

“Yes.” Newt shifts from one foot to another, wondering how he should go about this conversation.

Although not a legilimens, Newt’s come to know Tina as an exceptionally perceptive witch, and guesses his thoughts. “You could stay,” she says quietly and, dare he say it, hopefully.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” He’d like to stay if he’s honest with himself, but then again, he doesn’t know if he should.

“It’s no trouble, really.”

They make eye contact and he hurriedly looks at her curtains. A tingling in his head tells him Diana is exasperated and insistent at once, goading him to something he doesn’t know what. “I, um…”

Tina steps into his space, eyes wide and earnest, and Newt feels as if he’s a timid creature that’s being goaded out into the open. She lays a hand on his arm. “Stay.”

He glances at Diana to find her already looking at him, her ears perked to attention. She waits for his next move, hopeful, and, for once, he listens to his heart.

He nods. “Alright.”

Diana closes her eyes, her tail thumping on the chair cushion, happy.

* * *

Saying goodbye to Tina is difficult.

That comes as a surprise since they've only known one another for a short while, a week at most. She’s water-eyed as she bids him a safe trip, putting up a brave face for him, and Newt doesn't know what to do about that.

“Don't get into too much trouble,” Mordecai says not unkindly when neither of them can figure out any words.

Diana huffs a laugh and, to Newt’s surprise, nudges the bird with her muzzle. Whatever's happened in their time in New York, she's accepted it and Newt hopes he'll be able to follow.

And then another surprise, this one from Tina. She asks about Leta.

Newt realizes that he hasn’t thought of her for sometime. That’s a good thing, he thinks. “I don't know what she likes these days. People change. I've changed. I think.”

“Yes.”

Newt swallows at the breathlessness of Tina’s voice. He rushes forward, else he ruin the rest of the conversation somehow. “I'll send you a copy of my book, if I may.”

“I'd like that.”

“The first copy!” Diana yips, more passionate than usual.

Newt flushes, but nods. He doesn’t know what spurs him on, but he reaches out to Tina to tuck back a misbehaving strand. His fingers linger and Mordecai lets out a soft sound.

For some reason he'd like the moment to stretch out longer, if only so he can figure out what's happening between them. Something's changing and he needs to study the feelings in his chest, to understand why this strange attraction is happening. It's a phenomenon he didn't think would happen again, least of all to him.

He has to leave, so he does.

Only to realize his mistake before he even reaches the ship. There's more, there has to be more.

He backtracks immediately, Diana hot on his heels. “So sorry. How would you feel if I gave you your copy in person.”

Tina laughs. “I’d like that… very much!”

Newt’s unable to cap his smile, nodding fervently before making his final leave, feeling freer than before. But, again, there's a nagging feeling that strikes him on the gangplank of the ship. He stops.

Diana looks up at him. “We could,” she says quietly.

Newt shakes his head. He doesn't know if he's ready for this, not yet. He wants to, he realizes that now, Tina offering more than he's given, but there's still loose ends that hover over his heart, people he has to get over. Maybe one day, but not today.

He hopes it's soon and grins down at Diana when she silently agrees.

They make their way up the rest of the plank, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dæmons:  
> Newt - Diana, a maned wolf  
> Tina - Mordecai, a peregrine falcon  
> Jacob - Madeleine, a brown labrador  
> Queenie - Aaron, a stoat
> 
> Reviews and Kudos are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has any suggestions for possible AUs, don't hesitate to message me or comment!
> 
> Check out my Tumblr, [njcklenjart](http://njcklenjart.tumblr.com)


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